Case File No
by Alex K 47
Summary: Vlad Kruger has been in triple-max for 4 years, and he's just gotten out. However, the people who put him in now need him to fight against his and their foe... Well the enemy of my enemy... but what happens when SHE is there? PEB and Last word Love X-over
1. Just Apathy

Case File No. 3: _the story of a man who was _

_Born in the wrong place at the wrong time._

By Alex K 47

2:30 PM Mountain Time,

Helland, New Mexico

Residence of Mr. Kruger, late of the Green Berets…

A knock on the door. A simple sound, but Vlad had been trained in the difficult art of paranoia by his father. Ben Kruger had been a captain in the Green Berets, and had once been an imposing and dangerous man. Now, he was a borderline schizophrenic with a drinking problem. The knock wasn't a friendly knock, no. It had a severeness about it that shouted caution. He heard his father stumble to the door, almost unconscious. But something was wrong; his father was suddenly very quite, which, given his drunken state, was strange enough. He took a chance and peeked around the corner, and saw his father at attention. Then a very cultured voice spoke up. "Ben Kruger, how you have fallen." Vlad didn't like that voice, it was… cold.

"Shorry, shir, na 'cuse shir." Well, he was drunk.

"I am here to offer you a proposition, soldier." This was getting weirder by the second, what was going on??

"amm lising."

"If you give us your son, we will supply you with money for the rest of your life." WHAAAAAAAT?

Ben didn't think, he reacted. Years of obeying orders without question, without thought, had left its mark. "Yessir."

"Very good soldier, your boy will follow in your footsteps." He walked into the house and said to Vlad, "Come with me boy."

I could try to describe what poor little Vlad felt like, 5 years old and being

asked by a military general to come with him into the unknown. Remember when you were a kid? The unknown was a very scary place, fill of vampires and mummies that would wrap you up and put you in a stone sarcophagus for all eternity. What did you do back then? You would call for your parent, and they would come to comfort you and let you sleep in their bed. And you would go to sleep happy, warm, and feeling safe because your parents were around you and everything must be safe because they were there. But Vlad didn't have that. If anything, it was the opposite- his father had thrust him into the unknown, not sheltered him from it. What else could he have done? His premature mind, shaken to its foundations by this betrayal, let go its allegiance to it's parent and fixated on this cold, cultured human that told him to go to the car while he sorted things out with his father.

His father died later that year, of alcohol poisoning.

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Ch. 1 Just Apathy

_11 years later…_

"Vlad, I understand what you're going through, I know it's tough." My parole officer, Haver, said,

"Hm." I'm not feeling very talkative. Spending 4 years in a triple- max security prison would do that to you.

We don't talk much after that, my single-syllable answers making him feel unwelcome in my life. Which he was. When we arrived at my humble abode, I opened the door and got out, the blazing hot desert air making my face feel clammy, as the air was pregnant with moisture. A huge storm must be coming up. 4 years ago, the protocols would be to open up the storm drains and issue a storm warning to the news stations. That would be the officials. Meanwhile, the local mobs would be preparing to send all their garbage out into the desert, buried underneath a solid coat of dirt and newspapers. 4 years ago I would have been unsure which side I was on, not anymore. Now, I stand in front of a 2-bit piece of garbage flat right near the good part of town, 3 blocks away from a liquor store that's covered in secret messages. Just from here I can see hints to illegal, scary places, places that even the mobsters were afraid to go. A hundred leads to a thousand unsolved twisted murder cases lay upon that wall and the cops are too inept to know it. I shrug to myself. Then again, most of the street thugs around here wouldn't know it either. It takes my level of trash and worse to know the secret codes of the pedophilia slavers and animal "lovers". My parole officer smiles and says "Well, Vlad, good luck! Remember: keep your cuff on, keep your nose clean, and I'll see you next Friday. Bye!"

Cuffs; the newest of cop tricks. Unless you have the key or a shitload of cash, you will never get out. An upgrade of the house arrest bracelets, they constantly upload your location, vital signs, and recent purchases. It takes a lot of knowledge of its design to get it off. It's also a mark of shame; heck, the inventor had the balls to fashion it into the form of handcuffs. Me and every other con hate it with all our hearts. Haver reaches over, closes the passenger door, and he's gone. If he's worried about getting carjacked, he's dumber than he looks. His car is a piece of shit Ford, not worth the trouble for even the most hyped up cokehead. I sigh and walk to my new flophouse. My new home is a piece of shit and I can see indents in the wall. I don't care. To tell the truth, I'm too tired to give a shit. I walk into my bedroom and collapse on a lumpy old queen-sized mattress. I'll get sheets tomorrow.

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Tomorrow comes way to soon. Used to the early wake-up call that my body never really got on with, I awaken 5 hour earlier than I want to. I groan and pull my feet over the edge of the bed. My right hand moves up to my neck and rubs the backside of it, waking myself up. My eyes are barely open, but I'm already making a mental checklist of things I will be doing to get myself back to what I was. It's a long list. But foremost is a big part of what made me tick, something I've been missing for a long time.

"20 1-liter bottles of Rip & Slash Club Soda? That'll be ◊5."

I pay up. Triple-max gives their inmates 100 jacks after they leave to get them back on their feet. Smart. The cheap street stuff was at least 113 jacks, but food and other utilities cost next to nothing. Next I buy the basics, starting with food, linens, and electronics. Electronics: the reason I've been in a triple-max prison since the age of 10. I hacked a few sites, ran a few scams, all ending with the big one: sending 300 yottabytes of kiddie porn to the US president after he approved some serious anti-hacker laws. Even after 4 years I still smile; not only did I overload the bastard's computer before he could hit the undo key, but 20 of those pictures had been of his daughter. Not my idea. Hers. I almost don't buy the computer; it costs me the rest of my money and I can barely stand the sight of it. But in this day of age, a man without a computer might as well cut his dick off. I bring my junk home and put it all away. Its still early 8:00 at the most, so I slip into my newly made bed and conk out without a second thought.

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I wake up 2 hours later to the sound of someone rapping on my door. It's not a police knock: I can still hear it after 4 years. It's a light tap, a chick, maybe, or a man who isn't trying very hard. I get up and check the view screen. It's a chick, and she's holding a bunt cake. That holds my attention for a second, then my view shifts to her family. There's a teen girl, a young boy, and a large, burly man. I sigh mentally. A welcoming party. Nevertheless, I open the door and lean against the frame. The mother appears startled, then scared. "Are you aright living here young man?" she asked worriedly. The family seems pitying.

Oh, did I mention? I wasn't convicted of the kiddie bomb; I was convicted of all those pictures I managed to get my hands on. I was branded a pervert and my name and crimes are given to everybody in a 1-mile radius. Apparently, they don't give out the mug shots. I don't answer, just hold up my cuffed hand, and the family almost visibly recoils. Then, just to scare them a tad, I smile and say cheerfully "Actually, I'm doing just fine, thanks. Is that for me?" I motion to the cake.

To her credit, the mother recovers rather well. "Why yes, I baked it just for you. It's just a sign of, you know, good will." She hands it to me.

"Uh… thanks. You just made it onto my good list. Well, I have a lot of work to do, so… I'll be seeing you "

I walk back inside and close the door. The cake smells pretty nice, so I cut myself a slice and taste it. It tastes pretty damn good. I'm feeling pretty much awake, so I decide to wake up and go outside, maybe head to the park. To the data-heads, it'll seem like I'm just going back to my perverted ways by checking out the kids. I don't give a rat's ass what they'll think. I just want to taste some air, feel some grass and maybe write a few pages on my laptop. I'm an on-and-off writer, and I consider myself pretty good, not to get a swelled head or nothing.

I get dressed in my night garb; a hoodie, black pants and shirt, and lead chains. I leave my house and travel to the nearest park. It's a nice one, one I remember from my childhood. Graveman Park, full of everything I want. I take my time- the chains I wear are heavy and I want to enjoy my free time. Why lead? I may not be guilty of the crime I committed, but I am guilty of plenty. You don't spend 4 years in a triple-max without getting someone's blood on your hands. I wear chains as penitence. I get to the park, and lay down on one of the hills, lying directly in the shade of a weeping willow. The chains were chill through the thin material of my t-shirt, and I began to get a little drowsy.

Next thing I know, I'm being poked in the side again and again. I open my eyes and, quite plainly, see a blurry page. Page 69 of Les Miserables. A good book, by all accounts, but my mind, still half asleep, can barely concentrate on the matter of the aggravating pain in my side that had so rudely interrupted my slumber. I picked the book off my face to find a large man standing over me. Apparently it was his boot that was placing itself in my side. My mouth is dry. I manage to rasp, "Yes?"

"You are Vlad Kruger?" his voice hints of danger.

"I know him. Who's asking?" I manage keep my voice sleepy, though I am far from right now.

"My name is Protevis Malstrom, I am from the neighborhood watch."

Fuck.

"So you know this… Vlad?" Protevis asks

"Uh… yeah, he's my twin brother." Come on, Vlad, think! How do I get rid of this guy? Should I get rid of him? He may just be here to say hello. Fuck! Who am I kidding? He's from the fucking neighborhood watch! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

"Oh really?"

Let me just say, for the record: Fuck Fuckity Fuckfuckfuck!

"No…"

He seemed pleased with himself. "So, I assume, that you are in fact Vlad?"

"However did you guess?"

"I am just here to tell you, Vlad, that if you try any funny business, I will personally tear your arms out of your sockets."

I groaned, stretched, faking drowsiness. "I'm fucking 14, smack dab in the middle of puberty, of course I'm gonna try something."

"I have already given you a warning. Good day." He began to walk away.

"Hey, jerkoff! Here's a newsflash: I'M INNOCENT!"

He lifted a hand and flipped me the bird.

I stared open mouthed after him for a few seconds, then leaned back down against the gently rolling shape of the hill. I chuckled and said as I flipped my hood over my eyes to get some more shuteye, "I think he likes me."

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By the end of the month, I knew everyone in a square-mile radius by name, and they knew to not bother me. I had succeeded in building a wall around myself, broken only by my jaunts to the market or my visits to the park. I had been issued a decree as part of my parole- I had to go to weekly counseling sessions with other perverts. The counselors were always trying to get me to say something profound. So, I gave them what they wanted. Again and again I told them something that was total bullshit. It led them down interesting paths, to say the least. But eventually they gave up, and I prescribed my own brand of medicine.

"Hey, Jack!" I called out as I walked into an ancient old music store. The walls were covered in ancient posters advertising gigs long since gone. Here and there, there would be a shelf with bygone, dust gathering records. A dye-dyed clothe behind the counter was pulled to the side and a young man with chair put in a truly awe-inspiring Mohawk that I knew he had missed in prison. When he saw me, his face lit up and he began to speak in a Scottish drawl, "Holy Jesus! Well, if it isn't my little firebrand friend! When'd you get out of the clink?"

"A month ago, and I see the two years you've been out have treated you nicely."

Believe it or not, this was Jack's dream job. He loves music, even teaches it, which was why I was here. "Come on, man! You get out and don't contact me for a month? What's the matter up here?" he said, rapping on my head.

I pushed his arm away. "Hey, what can I say? Had to get to know everyone. Oh, you'll love this. First day I'm out, I decide to go to the park, you know, Graveman's?" He nods, and I continue, "So I'm just sitting there, minding my own business, and suddenly this guy from the local neighborhood watch comes up and tells warns me not to try anything! Can you believe it?"

He nods and says, "Yeah, the local NW is a real pain, totally suspicious of everyone. But then again, our location doesn't help any."

I nod and say, "Don't I know it."

We go into the back room and, just as I suspected, there was a topless girl lying on a pile of beanbags. I smile and say, "Virginia, I presume?"

"Ginny, please." She smiles, "Nice to finally meet you, Vlad."

Jack sits down and says, "I know you Jack, probably better even than those shrinks da-"

I grin, "You know me better than my parents did."

"-And you don't make many social calls. What do'ya need?"

" Free guitar lessons and some good times."

He and Ginny laugh, "We got both, kid. But do'ya have time for them, what with school and all?"

"I'm not allowed in school until paroles up, and that's not for another year, at least. Until then, I'm stuck with nothing to do."

"Aren't you going to go back to tech work?"

My grin vanishes like quicksilver. "I'm through with that work, Jack."

He goes serious. "Yeah, but your question is: is it through with you?"

"It had better be."

He suddenly smiles and drawls, "But enough with th' bad shit, ya came here for fun, and I'm in no position to refuse."

"Great, so when should I show up?"

"Well, right now's a good time. Oh, and by the way, do you want us to help you with your songs?"

"Thanks man, I would kill to get my hands on some tunes."

He hands me a strip of paper. "Here are some fantastic tunes."

I look at the strip of paper it has a web site on it: "Any of them pop?"

"Dude, I should be insulted. Do you think I would give you that shit? Na, man, this tuneage is totally clean, the record companies have no clue. 'made sure of it."

"Nice. Should we get started, then?"

A corner of his mouth goes up into a devilish grin. "Do let's. Ginny, will ya mind th' store fer me?"

"Sure, just let me get a top on."

"Thanks, bebe."

We walk into another back room, where Jack's house is. He opens a cabinet and pulls out two guitars. And thus, my musical tutelage begins.

Ch. 2 Korobeiniki

_It's been 6 years since that fateful day, and Vlad is now a young man, working with a team. He stands in a simulation room, waiting. The room is a dull gray; blocks float in the air serving as basics for the computers. He closes his eyes and slows his heart. Suddenly, a guitar screech sounds through the air and his eyes fly open, immediately taking in his new surroundings. _

_He is on a cliff overlooking the sea. A fiery red and peach sunset glistens on the horizon. Green grass lies beneath his feet, which are covered by black army boots. His torso and lower face is covered by a white blanket, which is wrapped around him like a poncho. Behind him lies a dirt road, with large hills on both sides, forming a stage that thrusts him out over the ocean. All is peaceful for a second, but it is soon broken by a little girl's tortured moan. He spins on his heel and runs, not down the road, but over the side of the hill. He gets to the top, hunched over to move faster, and stops, his army boots gigging into the soft turf. He looks at the scene below him, and begins to shake and shudder at it. He may be trained, but he is still only 11, not ready yet for the horrors of the real world…_

I force myself awake and try to calm my beating heart.

Cannibalism. That's what they called it. A little girl, 5 or 6 at the most, being lowered into a bubbling pot slowly, the skin of her legs gone, peeled off by the very same people who, just a few feet away, were eating her siblings and family alive. I couldn't move. It had taken me years to get over it, and I thought that I was finally free of it. I learned later that someone had hacked the simulation files and placed a fake sim in there. I was just the unlucky bastard who found it. I couldn't move for a month, just lay on my bed, shivering in delirium as I relived her the girls face as she was slowly cooked alive, her head kept above the water so that her captors could hear her scream. After a while, my nightmares changed. I was the one being lowered into the pot, with my father sat at a table with a plate in front of him and a knife in one hand and a fork in the other. I didn't need a shrink to figure it out. Eventually, I got better. But I had changed. I didn't laugh as much, didn't smile as much, and dove into my training like a desperate man. Maybe I was trying to forget what I had seen. I learned computer code and tried to find the hacker who had placed my nightmares into the system. All I ever got was a name. "Korobeiniki"

But that was as far as I got. Every trail I tried, every clue followed, led nowhere. I gave up after a while, but it stayed with me for years…

But I haven't seen _her_ in 3 years, why am I dreaming it up again?


	2. Korobeiniki

My pondering was interrupted by a knock on the door. This time, I recognized a police knock; very short and swift, but powerful. I moved slowly, getting dressed and walking over to the door. Opening it, I instead saw a man in full army attire. "Vlad Kruger?" he asked.

"What's it to you?"

"I am Corporal Max Jenkins- from Blue Guard."

For a second I'm still. I can't breath. Then I realize something. I smile and chuckle, shaking my head. "No you're not."

"Vlad, you've been away for 5 years. I was assigned to blue squad 2 years ago this Friday, so you wouldn't know me."

"Bull. You're Black Guard."

He loses his composure, but only for a second. I smile and hold open the door for him to step inside. He seems unconcerned, but a muscle in his cheek is jumping. A tell. He steps inside. I motion for him to follow and we go to my kitchen and he sits down. His cap sits on the table. I grab a club from the fridge and sit across from him. "You haven't been in Black Guard for very long or it would have taken me more time to figure it out. So, when did you begin?"

"I have no clue what you're talking about."

"Just so you know, your cheek twitches when you are uncomfortable. You are not Blue Guard. Blue Guard doesn't us "corporal" or "Captain" unless they're in a meeting with the big heads. We use "Wiggin" or "Mitnick" I was a "Bean". You are from Black Guard because that is the only guard that would have the audacity to pull this kind of stunt. Red wouldn't have hidden it; they would have been blatant about it. White wouldn't have even touched me. And Green would have brought a gift for me as well. Now, what does Black need me for, and what do they have to offer in exchange?"

He seemed to fight with himself for a minute. Then, " All right then. We need you back. We would be willing to wipe the slate clean with the government. You could start over, all you have to do is this one job for us."

"No." I don't like to mince words.

"Why not? You could be free of this. You're a legend in Blue Guard. Just as your father was in Black."

My jaw clenches. I hate my father. Black Guard hero, winner of a hundred unknown battles. And he gave me to the people who wrecked his life. "Max, you know that Black Guard is one of the most hated of all the Guards. Why?"

"We are told as recruits that it's because all the rest don't get to go into the field like we do."

Typical. "No, it's because the unofficial Black Guard motto is "Abuse, Use, Throw Away."

"Where the fuck do you get that from?!!"

"Because, Blue Guard, White Guard, Green Guard especially, heck even Red Guard will help it's members after they leave The Business. Black Guard won't you people give up your members. You drop them and if they get in trouble, you never knew them. I want no part of that."

"It is for very good reasons that we do that."

"That's a lot of shit and you know it. My father was a proud man. I remember him before he gave me to you fucks. He was a proud and brave man. Then, you dropped him like a ton of brick and he fell behind the world. He was left in hell. And so was I. So, take your offer and shove it. I've never felt a haven. My life has gone from hell to hell to hell ever since I was born. You can show yourself out the door."

He sighs and grabs his cap. " I'm sorry you feel that way, Vlad. Just remember, the offer is still valid."

He begins to leave. Just as he is passing out of the kitchen, I call out, "Hey, Max."

He turns. "Yes?"

"What was the job anyway?"

He stares at me. "Just so you know, your story is used as a prime example of valor and hard work. In all Guards, even before we know our commander's name, we know yours." He puts his cap on and says, "Korobeiniki has struck again. This time it was a girl. Her name is Slavankia. She saw someone murder a teenager, gut her like a fish and then rape the corpse."

He leaves.

My dreams are not peaceful that night.


	3. Dreams

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To all those who read this…

Enjoy

_Disembodied voices…._

"_NO! PLEEAASE!"_

_Brutal laughs and the sound of a knife is pulled from its sheath…_

_A gurgling scream…_

_I see Her face, above the water…_

Her head is above the water… It's not her scream I'm hearing…

_Korobeiniki… _

Who are you? Are you an are you? Or are you an are it? Why do you do this?

_A vision… my father sings a Red Army song in front of a massive audience…_

Slavankia… Do you need my help? Do you want it?…

_If I had words…_

Did _I_ want help?

_To make a day for you…_

Confused…

_Praise to my father…_

_Blessed by the…_

_Water._

I will help.

_Midnight calling…_

_Mist of Resolving._

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I wake up in a cold sweat. The night in Helland is sweltering in summer and in spring, but during fall and winter the wind blows so hard it has been known to throw people off the ground. Rain falls too. I look up from the bed out of the window that is above it. The rain, blown by the wind, is dousing the street relentlessly. I stand up on my bed and pull up the window. Rain immediately pours in, showering my bed and me. I know it's stupid, but I don't care. I love this moment, this moment when I can be free of technology and responsibility and simply be one with the elements, be affected by them. I can feel the rain, feel it reach into me and chill my bones. Then the feeling passes, and I close the window. My bed is soaked, my hair in dreadlocks drip-drying. I feel weak, like skin wrapped over a fragile skeleton. I lie down, collapsing in on myself. I curl into a ball, feeling the water permeate my very essence. I reach over to the side of my bed, grab a sopping wet blanket, and pull it over me. I feel slightly warmer now, but I'm still very cold. I slowly go to sleep trying to remember the Blue Guard's number.

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The next day I wake up stiff. Getting up is the hardest part. Beds, even wet ones, have the annoying attribute of being much more appealing than the world around them. Especially if you are an anti-morning person like me. But get up I finally do. "Au, fuck. That's the last time I sleep on a wet bed." I groan.

Maybe I'll go sleep on the couch next time. I stand up and find some dry clothes. Must have been quite a storm last night. I then get breakfast. I begin to play on the computer, but then I realize that I'm stalling. Time to make that call.

I picked up the phone and dialed 326-125-4870. Then I set the phone down. I stared at it for a few minutes, took a deep breath, and pressed "talk".

I heard the tones, happy and carefree as they dialed the number.

A click, then a serious voice: "hello?'

I hesitate, then I say "Vlad Bean and Korobeiniki dance the deadly dance."

"Welcome back, we'll send a car to pick you up."


End file.
